Grady hovered over me, unsure of what to do.  I needed my moment of panic. I needed to freak out, cry, and scream like I was five years old.

"You got this, Dylan." Grady tried to encourage me. I felt so small in this moment. I felt weak. I could remember the last time I did this when I was little. I had been in my room sobbing after my mother had died. The pain was the same.

The awful aching in my heart was the same.

Grady stepped off to the side, plopping down across from Adena’s room. He eyed the door, not able to look in my direction.

Stop crying, Adena needs you to be strong. She left something for you, read it.

I repeated these thoughts for a few minutes before I decided to take action. I sucked in a sharp breath before snatching the envelope. Ripping it open, I pulled out a crumpled piece of lined paper. Unfolding it, my eyes skimmed the page. I gasped. "Oh my god!"

"What?" Grady wondered, scooting closer toward me.

"It's . . ."I paused, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. "Our project."

“The one where you had to work with Adena?” he asked and waited, wanting more details.

I didn’t answer him.

I couldn’t.

This was from Adena, to me. I felt as though I couldn’t share it with anyone else.  The only other person who could come across this was our teacher. Other than that, it'd just be us.

Taking in a deep breathe, I began to silently read.

When Dylan Henderson pulled my name out of that hat, I was mortified.

I stopped and half smiled, remembering how I felt the exact same way. I kept reading.

First off, my new project partner couldn’t be any more unlike me. He’s outgoing, on the football team, preoccupied with parties and his girlfriend. Second off, he couldn’t pronounce my name right. He sounded like he was in a foreign land attempting to speak the language.

I paused and almost laughed, thinking back to how startled I was. I didn’t think it had been a real name at the time. I thought the teacher had been just been teasing me and messing around.

However, I soon figured out I was wrong. My initial feelings of resentment faded away as I got to know Dylan Henderson. The real Dylan Henderson, not the one that hides behind the fake smile or the bottle of Jack Daniels.

Why did I mention the bottle? Now I can’t submit this. Maybe I’ll let Dylan read this for his birthday?

I shall go on.

The real Dylan Henderson wears a mask. On the inside, he is smashed, damaged goods; broken. He goes along with the life given to him, letting the one he wants slip through his fingers.

The smile faded as she talked about me; the me that I showed her. She was the only one I showed the real me too.

But he isn’t broken beyond repair.

In fact, a companion was all he needed. I had the honor of being that person. While helping Dylan piece himself back together, I found him doing the same for me. Dylan changed my life. He showed me a new outlook on everything. He reminded me what it was like to be happy, genuinely happy.

I had to pause again, my breath tremulous. A few tears had sprung from my eyes, racing down my cheeks and splattering onto the page.

Okay, I’m not giving this to Dylan. I’ll keep this for myself, it’ll give me something to look back on. When I think of high school, I won’t think of the awful things. I’ll only think of him, Dylan Henderson. The boy who fought a stranger for my honor. The boy who told me I was beautiful. The boy who made me feel alive.

The boy I loved.

There, you said it Adena! You are in love! So madly and horribly in love! And you, well, love it!  It’s time to go work on the actual essay now. I’ll keep this paper around, see what happens. Maybe I’ll throw it out on my birthday, read it while I’m home alone and everyones at prom? Who knows.

I couldn't breathe. She didn't see the destruction ahead of her. Adena had no clue to all the pain I was about to put her through. She saw me as an angel, dressed in white. But I was secretly a devil.

That is what broke me. At some point, she loved me. She loved me so much, just as much as I loved her. And then I put my mask back on and pretended, pretended I could move on without her.

Now, here I am, struggling to breathe without her.

I began to sob. I was drowning, drowning in my life. And I deserved it. I deserved to be stuck where I was, to never escape it. This was my hell. This was my cage. This was what my life would be until the day I died.

And then that got me thinking about things I thought about often. I began thinking about death, mine in particular. I began thinking about ending it all, early. What was the point? Why was I taking up oxygen other people needed? Why was I allowing the people around me to be hurt by me when I could end it all?

I tried to stop these thoughts, those dark thoughts that came out when I was thinking about Adena. They wouldn't go away. For the first time after Adena died, I felt peace. I was at peace with dying. I was ready. I could do it; needed it.

Now.

“Dylan?”

I was startled by the sudden noise, my head shooting up I found Grady next to me. “I think we should probably go. We’ve been here for almost an hour.

I stared at him, confused. We’ve been here that long? It took me over an hour to hate my life, hate what happened, miss her, hate myself, and hate my life again? I shook my head to clear it.

Grady started heading down the stairs and, after tucking the box underneath my arm, I followed him. Mr Sierre met us at the bottom.

“All done?” he eyed the box under my arm but didn’t say anything. I guess he didn’t need to know that I couldn’t open it; not yet. It would only cause me pain. He didn’t need to know that so I was more than happy not to have to talk about it.

“Yeah . . .” I replied, looking at the floor. “Thank you for letting us come . . .”

Mr. Sierre attempted a smile. “She would have wanted it.”  For a moment we were all lost in thought, but then we heard a door open and slam shut, startling me so much I jumped. It must have startled Mr. Sierre as well.

Grady glanced at Mr. Sierre and then at me, worry etched in his face. Voices echoed down the hall, just blurry enough so that I couldn’t make out who they were.

Loud angry footsteps marched down the hall, straight towards us. Two figures emerged, both of surprise and shock. One kept glancing at Grady and me, fear and sadness in her eyes. She mouthed an apology.

The other one was left speechless, his eyes only on me. Sadness, anger, and pain flickered in his eyes.

Grady, wide eyed, half glared at the girl, knowing she messed up. But then it left, followed by a hesitancy, he knew she couldn’t do anything about it.

I gasped when I saw him. Memories crossed my mind of the times we had together and times we shared with Adena. I was so shocked to see him. He wasn’t supposed to be home yet.

“Quinton . . .”